


Don't Bet Against John Watson

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, Lestrade has had enough of their shenanigans, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, unwise bets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: The light flicks on to Lestrade’s disapproving look. John takes in the robe cinched securely around his waist, the rumpled bedhead, and bare feet.There’s also a rather noticeable hickey decorating the long column of Lestrade’s throat.“Hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” John says cheerfully and reaches for Sherlock’s sleeve. “We’ll pop round in the morning then?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt in the Sherlock fandom after years of reading the fics so let me know what you think! Unbeta'd and half written on the subway home so all mistakes are my own.

“I wish I could say this is a surprise but…”

Both John and Sherlock freeze the former still halfway through the dining room window and balanced precariously on the ledge. It was only about two feet off the ground but nonetheless he would rather not tumble back into the rose bushes the gardener had planted outside the windows, probably in an effort to deter minor burglars from exactly this.

The light flicks on to Lestrade’s disapproving look.

John briefly considers tumbling back out into the roses just for the hell of it.

“Lestrade.” Sherlock doesn’t miss a beat. He clicks off his torch, offering John a hand down, and condemning him to whatever chaos is about to ensue.

It’s a bloody good thing he loves him.

“A guest of my brothers tonight?”

It prompts John to take in the robe cinched securely around his waist, the rumpled bedhead, and bare feet.

There’s also a rather noticeable hickey decorating the long column of Lestrade’s throat.

John honestly can’t tell if Sherlock is so in denial about his brother or if he’s purposely being obtuse. If he’s honest it’s probably both.

“Hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” John says cheerfully and reaches for Sherlock’s sleeve. “We’ll pop round in the morning then?”

“I’m sure you both have a fabulous reason for breaking in at half past two.” Lestrade has apparently had enough of their shenanigans for the day as he scrubs a tired hand over his face with a jaw cracking yawn. John mimics the yawn before he can stop himself. Sherlock, of course, appears to be impervious to the contagion of yawns.

“But,” he continues with a pointed look. “I don’t want to hear it. Save it for tomorrow.”

‘It’s a matter of upmost importance.” Sherlock protests. “Not that I would expect you to understand the complexities of it.”

Lestrade rolls his eyes so hard John can _feel_ it. A moment later the Inspectors attention is firmly on him, ignoring the consulting detective in the room.

“Is it life or death?”

“Not really.” John ignores the betrayed sounds Sherlock is making next to him.

“Time sensitive?” John shakes his head. Sherlock makes a fairly dramatic cry of dismay.

“You were bored Sherlock.” John points out exasperated. “Which is why this couldn’t wait until morning.”

“You both have two minutes to clear out and then I’m untying Mycroft and letting him sort out all this rubbish.” Next to him Sherlock chokes a little.

“Definitely don’t need to do that!” John reassures him, perhaps a little hysterically. He tightens his hold on Sherlock’s sleeve and drags him off towards the front door. He ignores the quiet laughter coming from the room they’ve just left and sets about tending to his fairly scarred boyfriend.

::

Lestrade lets himself back into their bedroom, robe falling from his shoulders as he goes. The warm night air feels pleasant on his bare skin as he makes a show of approaching the bed where Mycroft is waiting, wide awake despite the late hour. He’s stretched out in his naked glory, the soft light from the bedside lamp making his skin appear golden. Both hands are tied to the headboard, just as he’d left him.

“I really don’t see how this was necessary Gregory.” Mycroft tugs lightly at the loose knot he’d tied before hurry downstairs to catch their annoying burglars in the act. Honestly it was like they’d forgotten how Mycroft had state of the art _everything_ , alarm systems included.

“I was inspired.” He grins cheekily. “You don’t like it?”

“I can’t decide if I would rather have seen Sherlock’s face when you mentioned it, or not.” Mycroft muses.

“Well thank you for not escaping.” Greg murmurs, sliding into his lap to kiss him properly. His hands trail along Mycroft’s chest, teasing and caressing. “I quite like you like this.”

“I couldn’t tell.” Mycroft presses his hips up and Greg can’t quite stifle a moan. “Perhaps you’d best show me, Inspector.”

The smile he gets in return is predatory.

::

“They’re having sex right now.”

“Really Sherlock? That’s what you choose to focus on?” John lets him pay the driver, wearily climbing the steps to 221B Baker street. Mrs. Hudson is sound asleep, and could probably sleep through a hurricane truth be told, with the way she survived years of Sherlock, but John still eases the door open, careful to miss the loudest of the stairs.

He considers making tea but really, his bed sounds much more inviting at this point.

“Who knew Lestrade was so kinky.” John muses just to hear the distressed sound Sherlock makes, as he attempts to sneak up on him.

“I’d rather wipe that memory from my mind.”

“Doesn’t matter, you still owe me 20.” John laughs as Sherlock comes up behind him, wrapping him in a loose embrace. He leans back against the warm body, pleased.

“They could have been staging it.”

“I don’t think that hickey was staged.” John laughs. “But if you want we could try and recreate it?”

He twists, catching the downward tilt of Sherlock’s mouth as he digests the implications. He presses a quick kiss to it, noting how Sherlock holds on a little tighter, chases his lips after he’s pulled back.

“That is my brother we’re talking about.” Sherlock grumbles displeased. “I’d rather not think anymore of the sex he may or may not be having.”

“You just don’t want to admit you weren’t expecting Lestrade.” John teases. He yawns abruptly, startling them both.

“It is rather late.” Sherlock glances over at the (still, for the moment) working clock on the mantel. “We should sleep.”

“Going to take me to bed then?” John presses more firmly against the taller man, feeling the lithe muscle hidden under the expensive clothing. Sherlock smirks and dips his head to kiss him senseless.

“I think,” he breaks away to press lingering kisses along John’s jaw. “That can be arranged.”

 


End file.
